Chapter 12 Emily
EMILY
The suitcase sat open on the bed like a mouth waiting to speak. I stood in the middle of my childhood bedroom, trying to ignore the lump in my throat. Outside, dark clouds were gathering.
I folded my gray cardigan and placed it on top of the other neat layers. My hands moved on instinct. I couldn’t remember packing the dress underneath. The navy suitcase wasn’t mine. Borrowed from my dad’s closet. A scuff marked the corner. I liked that. It looked like it had been places.
My father stood in the doorway with a mug of coffee. His other hand held the frame like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to come in.
“You sure about this, Em?”
I didn’t look up. I smoothed a sweater’s sleeve. “It’s a job of a lifetime.”
“You’ve said that three times already.”
I gave him a look. The old one. The one I used to give him when I didn’t want to talk about school or boys or anything that hurt. It didn’t work when I was thirteen. It didn’t work now.
“I just…” His voice dropped. “You don’t seem happy.”
I paused. That landed harder than I wanted to admit. There was no edge to his tone. Just truth.
“I am happy,” I said. “This is good for my career.”
He stepped inside. His coffee smelled like cinnamon. “You’re allowed to want things. Just make sure they’re your things. Not someone else’s picture of success.”
I sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress gave a soft sigh under me. “If I stay, I feel like I’m giving something up.”
“If you leave, you might too.”
I looked up. He didn’t say more. Just held my gaze, quiet and sure.
Jason’s voice came back to me. The night at the diner. The way he didn’t ask me to stay. Like letting me go was love. Like not fighting for me was supposed to be noble.
But it didn’t feel noble. It felt like a door closing.
I stood and hugged my dad. I held him longer than usual. I didn’t want to cry, so I pressed my face against his shirt and said nothing. He patted my back once. Warm. Solid. Present.
He left. I stood alone again.
I zipped the suitcase. The sound filled the room. Not loud. Just final.
I looked around the room. The old tie-dye curtain sagged in the corner. Band posters curled at the edges. The dent in the wall stared back at me, a reminder of a mirror and a moment I thought I could fix things on my own. Pieces of me still lived here, but they didn’t have answers.
I gripped the suitcase handle. My chest ached. I wanted him to ask me to stay. But he didn’t.
So I took a breath. Slow and sharp.
If he didn’t want me to stay, then I wouldn’t.
It would hurt. I’d miss him. But I’d been hurt before. I’d survive this too. Maybe it was time to stop chasing what wouldn’t meet me halfway. Maybe it was time for something new.